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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28649916">What is Forbidden</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eruna2704/pseuds/Eruna2704'>Eruna2704</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Feels, Drabble, ManDadlorian, Mandalorians (Star Wars), Not Beta Read, We Die Like Men, before grogu, razor crest</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:41:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,088</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28649916</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eruna2704/pseuds/Eruna2704</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The bounty hunter collapses into his chair and ruminates on how wrong it is to want more. </p>
<p>Honestly just some angsty drabble because I feel for our resident space DILF</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>din djarin/his damn feelings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>What is Forbidden</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Settling into the hard embrace of the pilot's chair is exactly what Din needed after the day he just had. </p>
<p><br/>
The quarry had him running around in circles, and maybe a prism too. The planet was dry and its unforgiving terrain had done a number on his aching joints, kriff was he sore. Yet he was back, for the most part in one piece, within the safety of the Razor Crest. The bounty was secured in carbonite (Din only revelled in their fear a little) and as he numbly punched the coordinates for Nevarro he let the weariness settle beneath the beskar. </p>
<p><br/>
The Mandalorian allowed himself to slump into the leather of his seat, numbly watching hyperspace streak past. </p>
<p><br/>
<em>Will it always be like this?  </em>
</p>
<p><br/>
It is a thought that has haunted him since he swore the Creed, but it became more frequent recently. He was grateful that he was saved, don't get him wrong. However on days like these, when the beskar felt more like a prison than protection, his mind wandered to an impossible future. A future he could never dare allow himself to want. </p>
<p><br/>
A sunny planet, with lots of green... maybe a lake or two. Not important but the green, now that was a must. Din Djarin had only ever known backwater skugholes and extreme terrains, he was born to the hard bite of barren wastelands and thats where he mostly found himself. So there had to be trees, tall enough to shade the green ground beneath it. Maybe if he was being extra indulgent, he could visualise spatterings of wild flower that could sway in the temperent breeze. </p>
<p><br/>
In this fantasy, he could retire his ship for good. Live in isolation on a farmstead, far away from the galaxy's grit. And maybe... maybe he could retire the metal encasing him too. Din allowed a soft scoff to pass his lips. </p>
<p><br/>
When he was younger and certainly more hot blooded, his beskar fuelled his arrogance. It was his pride, he used to soak in the fear the beskar drew from people.Running with Ran and his crew was the height of it all, true old fashioned gun slinging. Blaster fire, taking names and earning credits. Target practice, he remembered saying to Ran when asked what the Mandalorian got out of these jobs. Din recognised that as partially true, he did develop his skills then. </p>
<p><br/>
Hiding. </p>
<p><br/>
The fear and bravado, they fed him in a way nothing else had, they hid him. The beskar hid him, the mysterious shroud of the Mandalorian concealed the broken boy that was Din Djarin. The boy who still dreamt of his mother's soft flowery scent, who could still remember his father's deep rumbling laugh. The boy who could still remember the silky twilights of Aq Ventina as he settled in his bed for the night. The boy who could still remember the blaster fire and screams as he was flown away in the arms of a mandalorian soldier. His younger self craved the power his beskar held, for most of his life that power was all that was holding him together. </p>
<p><br/>
Din mellowed with age. </p>
<p>Now he was ready for quiet, for peace and solitude. To just be a man. Yet... </p>
<p><br/>
It was a niggling thought, the deepest secret he held. He didn't even like to acknowledge it in times like these, it was too impossible even for his fantasies. Even dwelling on it for a minute filled him with a warmth that was oh so sweet, threatening to overtake the bounty hunter as he slipped in and out of sleep. <br/>
Another body, soft skin that he ached to touch... </p>
<p><br/>
Maybe pale, translucent enough for him to trace the blue-green veins that hid beneath. Perhaps a deep umber, the duality of gold brought out in dying sunlight. Or tan like the twin suns of Tattoine, similiar to his own skin. Perhaps flawless and untouched, or littered with scars like his own. Din couldn't care less, it was the warmth he so badly wanted to feel. A desire so unrealistic, it almost made him angry for wanting it. </p>
<p><br/>
Yet his sleep addled brain coaxed him on. </p>
<p><br/>
Soft hair that tickled his skin, that begged him to bury his face into their soft depths like he used to do to his mother when he was a child. Unconciously, his leather clad fingers flexed. To run his hands through a soft mane that wasn't his own, now that was luxury. </p>
<p><br/>
But this was the part that felt sinful.</p>
<p><br/>
Eyes. </p>
<p><br/>
To gaze into eyes, helmet discarded. To see someone so wholly and vividly... A shudder wracked itself down Din's spine, jolting him out of his stupor.</p>
<p> <br/>
It's wrong. </p>
<p><br/>
Letting out a groan, the Mandalorian rose from his chair and stretched. His joints creaked, muscles protesting from having to work again. Making sure the alarms were set for when he was close to leaving hyperspace, he made his way to the fresher. The warm water soaking him eased the pain in his muscles, yet they couldn't wash away his guilt. </p>
<p><br/>
He was alive because of the Mandalorians, he survives because of his Creed. He couldn't throw that away. The strength of the covert, of his clan, laid in their unity. He had a responsibilty, a duty to perform. He lived by a tenet, one that most would never chose to understand. Bringing someone into his life would not only be futile, it would be unfair. </p>
<p><br/>
Drying himself off, he slunk back into his underclothes. He turned to where he piled his armor, silver helmet staring expectedly back at him from the top of that pile. A small smirk played at the bounty hunter's lips as he remembered the countless times people have cowered at that same visor. In those moments he became fear personified, nothing more nothing less. The beskar held no place for love. The beskar held no place for comfort. The beskar at times barely held him together. It is wrong to want for more, not when you already have more than you deserve by just being alive.</p>
<p>Din Djarin settled his straining mind with the familiar click of his helmet locking on to his head. The thoughts of his verdant planet disappeared along with the sweet torture of his phantom love, all notions of a life beyond this very moment dissipating. Only one phrase, the only phrase, rung out within the shelter of his armor. Only one phrase could reel in his pain, his excitement, his <em>hope...</em> </p>
<p><br/>
This is the Way. </p>
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